I am the Highway
by Eira Lloyd
Summary: Superwhomerlock. Songfic. Dean, the Doctor, Merlin and Sherlock are left alone, and think about their lives.


**A/N: I've had this idea in my mind for about a month, but I never got around to write Sherlock's part. Now I have so I'm posting it. FF doesn't let me put this in four categories, so I chose Supernatural and Doctor Who because they're the first two parts of this fic. It was i****nspired by a gif set I saw on Tumblr. I hope you like it!**

**Song: I am the Highway, by Audioslave.**

**Spoilers: Supernatural until S09 episode "Holy Terror". Doctor Who: From "Rose" up to "The Day of the Doctor". Merlin: Everything. Sherlock: Until S02 episode "the Reichenbach Fall".**

_I am not your rolling wheels_

_I am the highway_

Everyone had left Dean. His mother, when he'd been four years old. His father, after Dean and his brother had found him after he went missing. Sam had left him countless times. Cass never really stayed. He came and went. Charlie left, for a "more magical adventure". And now Kevin. Kevin was dead, and Sam was gone, once again, and Dean was left alone. The only company he had was the King of Hell, and Dean couldn't really trust him.

Dean was tired. Tired of people leaving him. It hurt, and while it usually got better, he had been hurt far too many times. Yet he always stayed. And people always left. That was his life. And while it hurt, he'd gotten used to it.

Being close with Dean Winchester was like being a hunter. You might want to leave the hunter life, but it will always come after you. Sam had known that first hand, after Dean came to look for him when he was in college, because he needed help to find their missing father. Although, unlike monsters, Dean would never call unless it was an emergency. He hated putting people at risk, but sometimes he had to. Besides, he could always protect them. That was his job, after all. Protect the innocent.

And as Dean watched his brother disappear, grief slowly taking over him, he asked himself, not for the first time, how long would it take for people to notice, that Dean was always there. That he was always there, but _they_ were the ones that left. How long would it last, until someone recognized that, and stopped leaving him? In the end they always came back, and Dean would welcome them with open arms. But he couldn't help feeling like everyone took him for granted.

* * *

_I am not your carpet ride_

_I am the sky_

The Doctor had never thought he would be able to go home.

Well, _home._

Gallifrey had never really been a home to him. The few pleasant memories he had were usually overshadowed by the bad ones, which went against what he stood for. _The way I see it, every life is a pile of good things and bad things. The good things don't always soften the bad things, but vice-versa, the bad things don't necessarily spoil the good things and make them unimportant._

But he couldn't help it.

In Gallifrey, everyone took him for a daft old man, for an idiot. They ignored him, most of the time. He was just a fool, that didn't deserve their attention.

And all those humans he took as companions, after the Time War had ended? He craved to feel important, like he wasn't just some failure. Rose Tyler had healed him to some extent, but the Doctor had been broken long before he even met her. But in his mind, if his companions were Time Lords or Time Ladies, they would see him the way the other Time Lords did. As a mad fool. And they wouldn't want to approach him.

For the Doctor, alone and lonely were the same thing. And he hated to travel alone, but he did anyway.

Donna was right when she'd said he shouldn't travel alone. If he was alone, he'd spend too much time dwelling on the past, making him a bitter man, and no better, in some ways, than the other Time Lords.

But what could he do, when he knew he would end up alone no matter what he did?

* * *

_I am not your blowing wind_

_I am the lightning._

Merlin had known from the beginning everyone would always underestimate him. But he had never known, never even _thought_, they would be right.

It was his fault. He had been too slow.

Arthur was dead, and it was because of him.

He thought he had got there in time. And, in a way, he had. Camelot had won the battle. But Arthur hadn't. And grief tugged at his heart, as the young warlock wondered whether the pain would ever cease.

He looked at Lake Avalon, eyes fixed on the unmoving waters, silently praying for a miracle, sometimes looking up, as if there was someone up there who could grant his wish.

He could summon lightning to kill Camelot's enemies.

He could cure many ills.

He could save someone's life in a split-second if he acted on instinct.

And he could take away someone's life the same way.

But he couldn't bring people back from the dead.

Only the High Priestess of the Triple Goddess could, and he had killed her.

He had saved Arthur so many times, why couldn't he had saved him once more? Just once.

His powers were useless here, and part of him wanted to go back to Camelot, and put his magic to good use. Guinevere—Gwen was still alive. She was the Queen, the ruler of Camelot. She would need his protection, the same way Arthur had needed it.

Although, if he had failed Arthur, who said he wouldn't fail Gwen?

Merlin shook his head. He had to let go of the King. His time was gone, and would come back. People still needed him. He couldn't stay in there forever, waiting for someone who might not even come back in the near future. That probably hurt the most. Merlin stood up shakily, a breeze blowing by, giving him a strange feeling.

He had failed Arthur, he wasn't going to fail one of the only friends he had left. He was going to prove them, all the people who had underestimated him and his powers, that he would not fail, not again. Never again. And, most important, he would prove it to himself.

* * *

_I am not your autumn moon_

_I am the night_

Sherlock watched from afar as his friend — his only friend — stood in front of his grave, asking him for one more miracle, for him not to be dead. And Sherlock wanted to go, to tell him that he wasn't dead, to tell him that it was all a lie, that it was to save him, and Lestrade, and Mrs. Hudson, and all of them. Because, loath as he was to admit it, he cared about them.

That was the worst. Because he felt terrible for lying to them.

He'd never felt like that before. He'd never really _cared._

Caring is not an advantage. That was a rule he lived by, and he technically continued living by it. But there were a few exceptions. There always were. Sherlock knew that, probably better than anyone.

He wanted things to go back the way they were, he and John on cases, the constant adrenaline. He didn't want to stay in hiding, trying to disband Moriarty's web. But that was something he had to do, unless he wanted to get his friends killed. Because John wasn't his only friend. Oh, yes, he was the first person Sherlock considered a friend, but Moriarty had been right. He wasn't alone, as he'd thought before.

Only, now he was.

Everyone thought him dead.

For all intents and purposes, he was dead.

No one could know he was alive. Not yet. He had to take care of Moriarty's web first.

Sherlock watched as John left his grave, and he stood there for a moment, until he finally slipped back into the shadows, something Sherlock had been able to do quite easily before he got famous, and he was a bit glad to be able to do it again, to seek the familiar comfort of the darkness.

Even if now it felt lonelier than before. Because once you've tasted friendship, _real_ friendship, going back to the shadows is more difficult. But Sherlock did it, because he had no other choice. He and the night were one, always had been. He had been becoming too dependent on people. It was time he went back to being his former self again. He could not allow himself any distractions. Not now.

So, once again, Sherlock and the night became one. And a year passed, and then another, and without realising it, Sherlock Holmes was back to being his former self. The person he'd been before he met John Watson, the person who was cold. Incredibly smart, yes, but cold all the same. Just like the night.


End file.
